Category: Supernatural



 

Lucifer adjusts his robes as he perches himself on a stool.
Uriel glances at the celestial time and sighs, impatient to be about his business.

“Honestly, I did’t do anything THAT BAD”
“Udonmeanit…”
The sarcasm flies over Lucifer’s head.
“Serious o. I only said me too I want in on the good good na. You know what they say…”
“I don’t…”
Interrupts.
“What’s good for the goodse, is good for the gander! See what i did there? See?”
A big smile on L’s face.
“E for Effort”
Lucifer frowns and smacks his teeth. “Abeg abeg. Na wa you sef! Anyway! Back to my side of the story! Yes ooooo. Small tin like dis. Oga come dey vex! Allova sudden, I don turn Devil. Juslaidat!”
A raised eyebrow. “If HE was angry, then it was not a small thing
He eyes his companion. “So you been dey dere wit me wen e happen abi?”
His companion sighs. “Carry on”
“Ehen. So I say me I want my own throne. Me sef i want my own praise. Ahn ahn! I don dey shout Halleluyah since HE make me! E never do? Me sef why i no go siddon, dey drink cold water?”
A shocked look on Uriel’s face. “You said what?”
“Ear dey pain you!? I tell am say, Bros G, Me sef i want seat. E no need big like your own. Juss small ting wey i go take siddon beside you so we go share the praise. Not even 50-50. 80-20 na im i talk. Oga come vex”
Uriel’s mouth drops open.
“Hayyyyyy! You have no fear?? Are you mad???”
“Ahn ahn! Is it because I’m telling you something you are now insulting me anyhow? Take ya time o! Anyway! He sha was vexing for me and said i should get out. Ah. After all my loyal service. This life sha.”
Uriel shakes his head. “See, I have 12pm Hosanna duty and it’s almost time. What exactly do you want me to do for you? Beg HIM?”
Lucifer laughs, playfully slapping Uriel’s shoulder. “Beg ke! O ti o. No beg please. Why i go beg am. A whole me! Lucifer! Finest boy in H Town. Baby boy of Life! Ehhhhhnnnn”
He dusts his shoulder.
“So..what then?”
“Ehn. Mo nlo! I dey port! I’m porting outta here so i came to give you proposal, you know we are friends na. Egbon mi!!!!”
Uriel huffs, irritated. “Get to the point! Goodness!”
“Ahn caam daan na. No be Halleluyah you just wan go shout? E no dey tire you sef! Anyway Come and follow me o! I’m going to Earth to control everything! Controller general and tinz. Your boy is gonna blow! If you follow me, i fit make you Deputy Commander because we don be padi for long mehn…”
Uriel stands to his full height.
“Lucifer! Lucifer! Lucifer! How many times did i call you?”
“Ahn ahn na wetin!”
“E be like say you don crase finish abi! So you look me upandan finish, think say na me go follow you chop eternal punishment. You tink say i no know dat be your punishment?? Eez like ya a mad somebody. Belly don dey run you abi? So you look Daddy G.O throne finish and e dey do you WAWUUUUU, you come go challenge am”
“Eiiissss…”
Uriel interrupts. “Ehn! I no wan hear! Do me a favour please. GERRARAHIA! GERRARAHIA RIGHT NOW!”
“Whoolup nigga! Whoolup! Ahn ahn dem no dey follow you play again?”
“Abeg! Carry your play dey go! DEY GO!”
Lucifer angrily gets up.
“Oya dey here na! You too dull sef!  You don fall my hand, guyyyy. Ahn! You don forget na me and you dey hustle for Ojuelegba from day one”
Uriel sharpens his sword on the floor. “You still dey here???”
He lashes out with his sword at Lucifer and he flees, cursing.
Uriel chases after him.

Minutes later, Uriel comes back and sighs deeply and looks at you, the reader.
“E don be for una sha… That oloriburuku go frustrate una die. Ehyaaa…”

————————————–

In my head, the Devil is a disgruntled Nigerian civil servant.

Undeparted


“Susan Okpara is dead”

We sat shocked in the assembly hall, our minds trying to assimilate what we just heard.
Susan? Our Susan?
Susan the Head Girl. Susan the M.B.G. in Princess High.
Some of us did not believe it.
We refused to believe, even as we sat on the pews at her funeral, watching her covered coffin as a Bishop spoke about Life and Death.
It still did not…no… would not hit us as we watched her being laid into the ground.
We refused to let it hit us as her coffin was covered with sand, as we took handfuls from a mound; we knew we were just going through a ceremony.
The box is empty.
It had to be.
Susan is not inside.
She couldn’t be!

Susan Okpara is not dead.

Simple.

“Susan is not dead” Mr Ikon said authoritatively when we resumed the next week.
He glared at us, daring us to argue but no one was ready to.
He was her prized pupil.
Mr Ikon walked to her desk and pointed, finger trembling as he tried to control the tremor in his voice.
“Susan is not dead. She is here with us, sitting right here. We cannot treat her as dead”

That was how it begun.

We were willing to go along with it.

Susan wasn’t dead.

Her desk remained there for her.
We stuffed her assignment into them.
It didn’t matter to us that it was soon overflowing with papers.
We packed them neatly, writing her name on each one and storing in her metal locker.

Her name remained on the register and I personally signed her in every morning.

We reserved a seat for her for school trips.

She was the prom queen and her crown was put on her seat.

It was graduation day and for the first time, we forgot about Susan.

“Everybody come together. Now smile. Say cheese”

We smiled as the flash blinded our eyes for three second

Two weeks later, my graduation pictures came.
I smiled as I looked through them.
The last was the panoramic view of all the graduating students.
I smiled as I identified everyone.

My eyes glanced over myself…and stopped.

My heart stopped.

Then redoubled.

I closed my eyes.

I opened them, blinking rapidly.

I looked back at the picture,

No, i was not mistaken.

Behind me, Susan stood in her school uniform.

Her skin seemed translucent; faded.

Lips stretched wide into a smile that didn’t reach her cold, dead eyes that glared out at the camera.

My hands shook, my breathing coming in gasps.

I looked at her hands.

They held my shoulders.

No, not held.

They clawed at my shoulders as if trying to rip my arms out of their sockets.

A whimper escaped from me.
The photograph fluttered away from my hand and dropped on the bed.

Sweat rolled off my brows and I brought out my phone, shakily trying to dial Lola’s number.

Just at that moment, I felt it.

I felt a hand pull on my shoulders.

I turned violently, jumping off the bed, eyes wide with terror.

No one was there.

My throat clogged as I picked my phone quickly and dashed for the toilet.

“Oh God” I whimpered as I locked myself in.

I sat down on the toilet lid, fingers slipping off my keypad as I tried to get Lola’s number from my phone book.

I wiped my hand rapidly on my thighs, trying to control my breathing as sweat into my eyes,  listening to the phone ring.

I licked my dry lips anxiously.

“Hello! Oh my God Feng was just about to call you! Did you hear what happened? Mr Ikon is dead!!”

My brain slowed to a crawl.

“Hello? Feng? Feng? What is it? You crying? ‘Cause of Mr Ikon? No? Feng what happened!?”

I took a deep breath.

“L..Lola…”

“Yes? Talk!”

“L..Lola..Susan…”

“Huh?”

“SUSAN IS NOT DEAD!”

As I spoke frantically to her, I felt it again.

Hands gripping the back of my neck.

I screamed, phone dropping off my trembling hands and clattering to the floor.

“Why didn’t you people let me die?”

—————————————————————————

Hey!
So, this was first scribbled after i finished watching an anime, Another. Served as an inspiration for this story and if you watch it, you’d know why.
I’d recommend to fans of animation. Yes, it is Japanese but hey, I think the Japanese tell the best horror stories.

That being said, hope you have a lovely weekend and Eid Mubarak to my Muslim readers!

Jana!

Footfalls II


John sat comfortably, ripping through a pack of sandwiches with his teeth as he dialled a number.
Securing one tuna sandwich, he began to munch as he listened to the phone ring.
“Hey baby!” A cheery voice greeted on the phone
“Hey sugs! You on a break now yea?”
“Mhmm. Just having some coffee and looking through some papers.”
John chuckled,  shaking his head as he picked up another sandwich. “Madae McFaden it is called a break for a reason! Take a break!”
Her laughter blared out of the speaker. “I’d take a break when I’m dead”
“You? I doubt it!  You’d probably ask to be buried with your work.”
“Well, you can’t expect me to fold my hands in the ground,  doing nothing can you now?”
They shared a laugh and a small smile tickled his lips.
“I miss you baby…”
“I miss you too, hun. How’s Edinburgh and the convention? On a break?”
“All good and yes, on a break. Having some sandwiches in this huge cemetery. Real quiet and all”
“Urghhhhhh” She muttered and he laughed out loud.
“You know I hate those places. Dunno why you find them so peaceful”
“Because they are you wuss! Wussy Madea!”

Madea?

John suddenly shivered, turning. Had he heard someone?
“Gotta scram baby. Break over!”
“Ok hun. You take care” John said  distractedly, still looking about.
“I love you” She said blowing a kiss over the phone.
“I love you too”
He walked to the nearest trash can and put the empty packets in. Dusting himself of crumbs, he walked out of the cemetery.

Madea?
Madea…
Madea!

“Lend me your eyes”
John tossed and turned in his hotel room, sleeping fitfully.
“Lend me your body.”
He kicked at his duvet, deep in sleep, as if fighting off an invisible foe.
“Give me my bride!”
He groaned, hands clawing at his bedsheet, sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Lend me!”
“Lend me!”
“Lend yourself to me!”

“Yes!” John shrieked as if in pain and suddenly, eyes popped open.
He shuddered, feeling like he had been bathed in cold water.
He groaned, rubbing his eyes.
“What the hell?” He murmured.
His shivering made him realise he had kicked off his duvet. Sliding his torso out of bed, he stretched his hands and grabbed it, pulling it over himself.
He sighed at the warmth and soon, he fell asleep.

Madea…

She kissed him soundly on the lips and he hugged her hard as they cuddled on the sofa.
“Missed you…”
She snuggled into his arms and he stroked her cheek, absent mindedly.
“Did you say something?” She suddenly said, turning.
He blinked confused. “Mm? No…no I didn’t”
“Oh..thought I heard you whisper My bride”
He chuckled. “Wanna be my bride?” He asked, nuzzling her ear.
She giggled. “You asking me to marry you?”
He licked her neck slow…and she shivered.
“Do that again…” She whispered.
He blinked. “Do what again?”
She turned and leaned towards him, licking his neck slowly.
“That…” she murmured, her eyes glazed.
He felt his tummy clench as his heart began to pound.
Smiling, she stood and dragged him by his shirt, sashaying into the room.
Together, the three of them walked into the room.

Soon, she was riding the two of them to ecstasy.


I walk slowly, grumbling as I try to balance the shopping bags in my hands to lessen the ache in my tiring arms.
“Almost there” I whisper to myself, a billow of cold steam following my words. It is a cold February night and a little shiver dances up spine.
“Brrrr! Onward soldier, onward!” I murmur, egging myself on to walk faster. I muse about getting myself a help just to do the grocery shopping.
It used to be John’s duty but since we broke up…
Well, that is that.
Coming home to rest would be ideal but that would mean living on Pot Noodles till the weekend arrives. My saving grace is the 24hour Tesco store just by the corner of the next street.
I walk past the cemetery and grimace in distaste. Graveyards always leave me with the heebies-jeebies. Not because of any ghostly fears but an aversion i acquired after i got lost in one as a child.
It had been grandpa’s burial at Edinburgh and with the boredom of a seven year old child, I ran after a butterfly delightedly, believing somehow that that was the spirit of my grandpa. It didn’t take long for me to lose my direction in the huge ground. I lost track of the butterfly and couldn’t find my way back. The grounds soon became a labyrinth to me and I was sure everyone had gone home without me. My legs soon got tired from walking and I decided to sit on a little mound of stone that was shaped like a stool. Shock and fear registered in my eyes when I suddenly felt the ground give and I toppled into a shallow grave.
It was in there my father later found me, crying my eyes out, staring at the grinning skull of a dearly departed.

I shudder at the recollection. John had decided to get us a house on a street that had a cemetery just to get me to let go of my fear. At first, I protested but the rent was cheap and so didn’t matter.
Cheapskate.

“Almost home” I whisper, listening to the rhythmic squeaking of my sneakers as I trudge on.
“Can I help with that?”
My head jerks up at the voice behind me and I turn.
There is a man with his face hidden in the shadows. My heart rate increases exponentially and it suddenly dawns on me how vulnerable I am.
As if reading my mind, he comes closer to the street light and it illuminates his face.
A huge sigh of relief leaves my body. “Ah! Spencer! You gave me a fright there!” I chuckle in embarrassment.
Spencer is a friendly neighbour I see around often. John never liked him because he thought he had a crush on me. It didn’t matter that the alleged crusher had a fiancee he had introduced to us.
Spencer smiles at me. “Sorry about that. Didnae ken you stayed out late”
“Huh?” I murmur, confused, eliciting a bark of laughter from him. “I didn’t know you could throw in Gaelic with English”
He chuckles. “Something I picked up. Need help with those?” He points at my shopping bags.
I shake my head, not wanting to burden him “Nah, they’re fine. I’ll manage. Thanks though!”
“You sure?  C’n ‘elp ya”
I smile. “You’re doing the accent thing again. It’s cute. You should teach me.”
His smile broadens and for a second, shadows shift across his face, lending him a look of malevolence. I step back instinctively, blinking rapidly and suddenly, it is gone.
“Gotta…go now” I say quickly, fidgety. He notices my discomfort and nods politely and turning away.
I think I’ve offended him and I suddenly feel foolish.
“Umm…Spencer?” I call.
He turns.
“Maybe I could do with some help” I say sheepishly.
He smiles and walks back to me. “Nothing wrong with that, lassie. We all need help.”
I give him half the bags and he lifts them. “Whao! What’s in here? Bricks?”
We share a laugh. “Tins and more tins!”

We walk along, talking, until we get to my gate which he helps me unlatch as I bring the bags in.
“Thank you so much!” I enthuse, dropping the heavy bags at the front door.
“My pleasure. Always my pleasure” he replies.
I wait for him to start leaving but he doesn’t. I smile at him uncertainly.
Does he want me to invite him in? I haven’t had a man over since John left.
But this isn’t ‘any’ man. This is a soon-to-be-married man!
“So…have a good night?” I venture.
He nods. “I will. You’ll see”
We stand there in awkward silence and I begin to get worried. Is he going to force himself on me?
“How is Dolores these days? When is the wedding?” I ask, trying to remind him of his engaged status.
“Dolores…?”
“Yes… your finacee?”
“Ah…” he says and chuckles, stroking his beard.
My teeth gnaw on my bottom lip in anxiety and my tired hands tremble as I try to get my key out of my bag. They fall and I bend to pick them up.
That is when I notice.

Only two feet are connected to the ground.
Mine.
At that moment, it suddenly strikes me how I didn’t hear any footfalls walk behind me, before he showed up.
I stand up slowly, eyes wide, lips trembling.
He smiles amiably. “Ah…I see you’ve noticed” he whispers.
“Wha..what a..are you?”
“Madea…Madea…Madea”
He whispers softly walking closer to me and I step back, limbs trembling.
“Have you seen Madea? Madea? Where are you?”
I open my mouth to scream but only a croak escapes.
“Little girls shouldn’t disturb my sleep. Mm…Madea?”
The porch light barely illuminates him as his skin ripples, the colour draining out of them, going grey. His clothes tear, suddenly turn to rags.
The smell of damp earth pervades the air, cloying, choking. I gag, tears streaming down my face like rivulets, my saucer-wide eyes shaking. I feel something wet run down my thighs.
“Madea” he growles, his voice suddenly gravelly.
His skin stretches, thin, and a familiar skull grins at me.
“O…ohh..”
“Madea. I’ve been waiting to take you home with me…My bride”
He reaches for my face and i shudder as bony hands stroke my cheek.
The stink of rot…
Of a graveyard…
“Madea… Daddy cannot find you this time…

I scream.

Hands shake me roughly.
“Madea! Wake up!”
My eyes open and I take deep, ragged breaths, body daml with sweat, trembling.
“Jo…hn?”
He stares at me worriedly, eyes red with sleep.
“You ok?”
I open my mouth to speak but he places a hand to my lips, pulling me close.
“Shhh… It’s just a dream…”
My shakes eases and I sigh. “Him again…” I whisper. “Since you came back from Edinburgh, it’s gotten worse”
“Just memories… Shhh. Sleep”
He kisses me softly on my lips and slowly, I drift back to sleep.

“Madea…” John whispered to himself.

“My bride…” Another voice murmured through him, stroking her cheek.

He would not remember saying anything… or stroking her cheek.

—————–
To be continued. Maybe?

Requiem


I

The receptionist tries a little chitchat with the stranger.
“So how long you gonna be town for, Mr. L?” she asks, smiling shyly at him.
“Just for the night, my pretty lady” he answers, smiling. “A show…of some sort.”
She blushes, fluttering her curled, auburn lashes. “Oh great!” she enthuses. “You part of the new performing act in town? We hardly have any shows here!”
He smiles warmly, cupping her cheek suddenly, planting a soft kiss on a lovely cheek.
“Oh you’d see tonight. And I hope you my pretty lady, would participate!”
She simpers, muffling her giggle with dainty hands, her eyes watching his lithe form leave to his room with interest.

II

Her doorbell rings insistently, waking her up from fitful sleep. Cursing, she opens bleary eyes and stares at the digital clock, glowing green.
3.30am.
“What the…”
She groans, flopping back on the bed. Her eyes slowly close when the doorbell rings again, longer this time, as if whoever is at the door is leaning on the  buzzer.
She jumps up, kicking at her duvet angrily.
It has to be her sister. The good for nothing wastrel who does nothing but party every night since she came to stay at hers. She has probably forgotten her key.
She grumbles all the way downstairs, switching on the light and with sleepy-eyed fury, draws the bolt off and yanks the door open.
“You better have a fucki…”
She stops.
There is no one at the door.
Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion, eyes still glazed with sleep.
“For fuck’s sake!”
She slams the door shut and cursing under her breath, she walks back up the stairs.
The bulb suddenly flickers, and as if snuffed, goes off, plunging her into darkness.
“Oh come on!” she groans, adding expletives for good measures when she blindly stubs a toe. Gingerly, she traces her way up the dark stairs, holding onto the handrails as guide.
When her feet get to the top, she suddenly feels cold hands grip her ankles.
Incomprehension shocks her to silence for seconds.
At the first pull, she regains her voice.
And screams.
She screams as she is dragged her down the stairs.
She screams as she falls, her head hitting every step like a bouncing ball before unconsciousness takes her out.
The light flickers on seconds later.
A trail of blood is smeared down the stairs.

III 

He stands bleary-eyed, holding on to his flaccid penis as he releases his waters of mankind as he tends to call it.
‘More beer than water’ he muses to himself.
Friday night, time to get wasted.
Inebriated by the alcohol, he is barely moved by the stink of the urinal.
As he is about to give himself a firm shake before zipping up, the light of the stall goes off and he curses, words slurred.
Suddenly, he feels cold, clammy hands prise his hand away from him member and grab his balls.
He squeaks in fright, the pain at being violated momentarily rendering him sober.
A scream of terror tears itself out of his throat as the strong, unyielding hand drag him, as if trying to force his body into the small toilet, slamming his head repeatedly on porcelain till they lose their virgin whiteness, crimson red with blood.
His body slides down to the urine stained floor.
The lights come back on.
A man walks in and opens a stall.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”

IV

She squats unceremoniously on the toilet seat and lets out a string of piss.
Her headphone blasts music into her ears and she bobs her head, feet tapping tot he beat.
Suddenly, she feels something cold and long slither into her vagina, forcing its way in.
Her eyes widen as she tries to stand.
She is pulled back to the seat.
She screams as she continues to sink further into the toilet bowl, eyes shiny with tears and unbelief.
She screams in pain when she feels her inside being dragged out.
As if pushed away by an invisible force, she falls, kneeling, her head smacking the tile floor.
Drops of blood streak down the toilet bowl, on the floor.
The light illuminates the drops of blood drops making crisscross skid marks down her pale thighs, her womb still pulsing warmly between her legs.
Her headphones continue blasting their music, unaware.

V

Jeremy is shoved out of bed and dragged into the kitchen.
A meat cleaver is forcefully thrust his hands.
He screams, hoping to wake someone up as invisible hand drag him up the stairs.
He realises what is about to happen seconds too late.
He plunges the cleaver repeatedly into his big brother’s chest and throat.
His prepubescent voice, hoarse, continues to scream, unable to stop.

VI

You would next.
You would scream.
But nobody would hear you.
NOBODY would hear you.
This is your Requiem.

 

VII

Mr. L’s lips are stretched at the edges into a smile, naked on his bed in his motel room, his thick , long member, black as night and visibly throbbing, contrasting with the pale hue that is the rest of his body. He fiddles with the chain on his neck, eyes closed as his body trembles slightly.

“Scream my little ones” he murmurs throatily, licking his dry lips. “Scream!”
He groans, cocking his head to the side, as if listening to the finest aria from an orchestra, a deep hum rumbling in his chest, building.
His hair crackles with electricity, standing at their ends.
The bed shakes as his body increases its vibrating intensity.
“Scream!” he murmurs louder, almost orgasmic.
He throws his head back and bares his teeth at the ceiling, hands squeezing his chain tight, body frozen.
As the music in his head builds up to a crescendo, he ejaculates.
His semen, black like stale blood runs down his thighs and he sighs, the look of serenity creeping into his face, opening dark eyes tinged red.
He belches, sulphurous smoke escaping from his nostrils.
“Wonderful!”
He laughs, teeth gleaming. “Wonderful! It’s been a wonderful show, Ladies and Gentlemen!”

 

VIII

An old truck coughs up smoke as it struggles to fire up its engine early in the morning.
After a few tries, the truck roars dully to life.
Whistling, a stranger pulls out of the parking lot of a motel, whistling under his breath.
He waves out of the car to no one in particular as he gets on the road.
“Where shall we perform next, Ladies and Gentlemen?” he murmurs.

IX

He turns to you and smiles knowingly.
He winks.

 

X

You would next.
You would scream.
But nobody would hear you.
NOBODY would hear you.
This is your Requiem.

 

——————————————————————————-

When I wrote this at first, I had no idea who the man was but when I finished, I realised it could be no other than Mr. L.
Always wanted bring in a character from an old story into a different one.
Ah, if you have no idea who Mr L is, phantompages.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/ldiablo/‎ 

Ah yes, before I leave.
Phantompages is going to be 2 on Sunday! Yaay!
Umm… no idea about what I’d do YET but hey, keep your eyes peeled.
Oh and subscribe if you haven’t.

What else?
Have a lovely weekend!
Jana!

Refuge


The abandoned house groans like an old woman as a nifty wind buffets the shack.
Window frames bang against window sills routinely at different corners of the house.
The swing hooked to the old oak tree at the backyard complains as the rusted metals holding the contraption rub against each other with the force of the wind.
The front door had fallen off at one point and so the house invites us inside to take refuge from the billowing elements.
The front door leads directly to a large, almost empty space that should be a living room.
Wallpapers peeled off, plaster fallen off the walls in patches like fairy dust.
It is almost empty, save for a rocking chair.
It does not move, even as stray children of the wind find their way into the abandoned shack of a house.
Somewhere within the house, an old grandfather clock booms the hour and as if on cue, the house is whipped into a frenzy.
Creaks.
Groans.
Moans pass through the walls and if one should press their ear to them, they’d swear they heard conversations.
The stairs squeak, as if someone of great bulk is climbing down.
The grandfather clock stops booming at twelve and suddenly, the rocking chair begins to move slowly.
Almost happily; like a dog that has sighted his master.
The stairs stop squeaking and the floorboards take over the squeak, almost sounding like footsteps that lead to the living room and eventually, to the rocking chair.
The chair rocks faster…
Faster…
FASTER!
Almost in a frenzy that if it were human, it would have been foaming at its lips with excitement.
A big crash and as if a weight had fallen on it, it stops.

A low  murmur, old crooning…
The empty rocking chair begins to move, as if controlled.

There is just one glass that has not fallen off a window frame in the house. The glass is in the living room. The rocking chair faces the windows.
Reflected on it, a fat woman sitting, staring at the naive soon-to-be-permanent-guests of the house; You and I.
Face, as black as night.
Hair, as white as snow.
Teeth, as red as blood.

She watches us as we run into the house to take refuge from the heavy rain that just began to fall.
“Wow! That was bloody sudden!” you mutter as you look around and sighting the chair, make for it.
You sit on it and invite me with open arms to sit on your lap.
Together, we sit, gazing at nothing.
We do not notice the reflection.
We only shiver a little; maybe from a chill.
Maybe because reflected, she just pulled us into herself.
One big hug.

Face, black as night.
Hair, white as snow.
Teeth, red as blood.

———————————————————————-

Another flow of random energy amassed as words.
I would settle down soon enough for  proper story.
Promise.

Quarter Past 11


Hey!
I worked on a watercolour painting on Wednesday so today, decided to try writing a story based on the painting. Picture’s in B/W cos my paint strokes are terrible and they look better this way!
Enjoy!

Quarter Past 11

IMG_20130306_172704-1_Logan

She did not mean to stay out this late.

There had been wine, music, food; she had lost track of time. She had promised she’d be home before 11. It was quarter past 11!

Harried, she walked out into the rain, cursing as she rifled through her bag for her little umbrella. The rain in savage glee increased, mercilessly lashing at her for her tardiness, plastering her clothes to her skin as she finally found and opened her umbrella.

Shivering and with alacrity, she ran, deciding to use the shorter route home. Normally she’d have been wary of using the bush path at night but between her irrational fear of large expanse of trees and the thunderous rage that would be her father when she got home, she decided to let the Devil take the hindmost and leg it.

Thankful for the flat shoes she wore, she ran until she was swallowed in by the trees.

Despite the fact that she was late, she unconsciously slowed to a walk as she traversed the narrow path. Gently, as if the slightest breaking of a twig would unsettle the atmosphere, she crept through.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her ears cocked and she turned around to stare at the gathering darkness behind her. Her heart hit her ribcage hard, as if begging to be let out. Fear of he father forgotten, she began to wonder if taking this particular route wasn’t a foolhardy thing to do.

She walked faster, stopping momentarily to stare quickly behind her. She didn’t even have any light and her phone was dead.

Only the stay rays of the moonlight that managed to penetrate though the dense foliage lighted her path and they did so badly.

There!

She heard it again.

She stopped as her blood roared in her ears raging like lions in a burning cage.

Footsteps. She was not mistaken.

Basic instincts screamed at her and she obeyed without thinking; she ran.

Her hands shook as she held the umbrella, panting as her feet slapped wet earth with dull thwacks.

Almost out of the bushes, she laughed shakily in triumph and exhilaration.

She heard no footsteps. She stopped to take deep breaths. What if she had imagined the footsteps?

She laughed and shook her head, walking at a normal pace, her ears still listening for sudden movements.

As she walked, she realised how heavy her limbs were;  almost as if she was carrying a heavy load on her back.

She blamed it on her unfit body and mentally promised to run more.

“Who’rrree you?”

A small voice suddenly asked, close behind.

She shrieked and turned about panicked. She saw no one.

“Who…who’s there?” She called out, eyes wide as clammy hands tightened their grip on her umbrella.

“How ccccould yooou not noticccce?” The small voice whispered into her ear. “You’ve beeeeen carrying me on your baaaack sincccce you walked intoooo myyyy forrressst…”

A cold tongue licked her ear.

Blood curdling scream.

O’er the Hills


O’er the Hills

The bell tolled low at the hilltop and slowly, the voices of the monks rose to the heavens in rolling waves from the monastery. They echoed over the hill and down the valley, tumbling through the rushes. The wind sighed, playing an accompaniment with the blades of overgrown grasses beating against each other softly; a susurrus of murmured hallelujahs.
The skies wept softly, joining in the instrumental as the pitter-patter of raindrops tickled the aural senses.

She stood there at the foot of the hill, red hair matted on her pale face, dull grey cloths moulded to her lithe frame, drenched in the rain; listening. Her nostrils widened, taking in the smell of the rich, damp earth. Her hands crept to her throat, eyes wide with wonder and shiny as they quivered with unshed tears. She swallowed soundlessly as the melodic humming washed over her.
Unthinking, she pushed one foot in front of the other, walking. Her bare feet dug into the wet ground, wet clomps of soil finding refuge in the spaces between her toes and in her toenails.
She trekked up the hill; stumbling but kept going, not saying a word, as if any sound from her would break the lightly woven magic.
Like a mage, without no gifts; the voices, her guiding star to where her musical Messiah would lay.
She knew no fatigue, her body knew no weariness. The sweet sounding harmony nourishing her limbs with strength when she faltered.

Suddenly, she panicked.
The nearer she walked to the monastery, the fainter the music got.
Her heart knocked in her chest hard.
She ran; her hands flailing as if trying to urge the singers to carry on, urging the music to stay.

She finally got to the old monastery and stood in front of the old wooden door, breathing hard.
The music had stopped.
She choked on a sob, her lips trembling as she struggled to contain herself.  With shaking hands, she pushed at the wooden doors until they opened, a dark womb letting her in. She walked into the gloomy chapel, feet taking care to walk carefully, as if the slightest noise could…what?

It was empty.

Her vivid green eyes suddenly went wide.

Where…?

She let out a single gasp.
Her pale face turned sickly white and like a lone wilting rose, she swayed on her feet and ungracefully, fell, a crumpled heap of the dull and the damp.
Her ears picked up faint footsteps and she tried in vain to get up, to see them.
They came into her view, brown hooded figures, making a circle around her.
She stretched a hand weakly, help? a command to continue?
She stopped short.

Bones.
They had bones where flesh should be, peeking from beneath their robes.
Her thin mouth rounded in a feeble ‘O’.

Suddenly the singing began again.
She sighed and slowly, her eyes flickered to a close, eyelashes kissing each other.

One of the figures carried her gently and slowly, they all walked, disappearing like the early morning mist after the first rays of sunshine. Their music trembled faintly in the air after they had gone, like a whispered goodbye to a lover before it too, disappeared.

**************

Never go up the hill, the locals would caution their wide-eyed children.
‘Beware the music’, they would say in hushed tones. ‘Beware the hill, the snatcher of souls’.

The hill calls; the hill beckons.

Resist it…

Resist the music…

———————————————————————————————————————————————-

This was written under the influence of this ——> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKtBpuLrI2s

Listen and be calmed.

Have a lovely day.

Tell Me Your Dreams


First post of the New Year and it is going to be a random.
Sorry guys. Lol.
Restless (as usual), and hysteric.
I should say happy but ever been so happy you want to scream and cry and it becomes almost like a physical pain? Yup, that’s hysteria and that’s where I am now.
Also battling the oddest waves of chest pains that bring on panic attacks of me thinking I’m dying which in turn brings on my heart palpitation which according to Google, means I’m either suffering from anxiety, got kidney failure or I am a walking heart attack.
Yea, I pick anxiety, thank you.
Not writing this to bore you about my predicament (or have you worry. I am fine)
Just need to dampen my hysteria a little.

Tell me your dreams.
Literally.
I’ll tell you a few of mine. Of course, my bad dreams.
Feel free to interpret or psychoanalyse or fear for my sanity.
Lol.
This is me, opening a doorway into my mind.

I begin.
First dream that comes to mind right now is a crazy one that had an odd ending. I say odd, because I lost consciousness in the dream and in real life I suspect. And for the life of me, can’t figure out how it ended. I hit blanks when I try to remember.
They chased me. Six men. I ran but they chased and caught me.
They weren’t exactly men; creatures, lumbering creatures.
They took turns hitting me and tore my clothes into pieces. I screamed and screamed.
They held my arms and feet,dangling me in the air and the first thing got ready.
Once I saw him fumbling with his trousers, I knew what would happen.
Somehow, I forced myself to lose consciousness. Still cannot remember what happened from there. I cannot remember waking up after that dream.
So vivid and just at that spot, black.
Forcing myself to remember used to get me panicked and I’d have goosebumps so I stopped trying to remember.

Another disturbing one, I’d blame on my dabbling into the Occult.
Before you panic and say “Hey! Witches and Wizards!”, calm down.
Occult simply means hidden or secret knowledge.
I am a believer in the spiritual, the supernatural. I am curious so I always want to know.
What lies beyond this world. What we can’t see. But some things are called Secret for a reason.
Anyway, I have a lot of mystic, esoteric texts.
The infamous 6 and 7 Books of Moses (which is overrated in my opinion), Book of this and that.
I read these books. I wanted to know, not practice.
Wasn’t interested in summoning anything. I thought I was safe.
The dream.
I was at the door in the night and the Devil asked me to open up.
How do I know it was the devil? Because I was scared.
My body was shaking.
Pitch dark and swirls of red.
“Open the door” he said.
I couldn’t even pray. I couldn’t speak. I was cowering in a corner, teeth chattering, tears.
He spoke to me in my mothers voice; my brothers voice.
Even cried like a baby.
Open the door.
Then he pulled me.
I was getting up without meaning to.
I wasn’t in control of my body.
I was screaming incoherently as my hand reached the door. I kept screaming as I slid the bolt.
I woke up.
I woke in tears. My body shaking. Cold sweats. Covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Eyes wide.
Shook like a leaf for an hour our more.
Didn’t sleep for the rest of that night.
Terror.
Funny thing, I used to hear screams. Not asleep. In the day time. Busy with work and suddenly screams of tortured people. They spoke in different languages. Mostly Chinese and German.
Somehow, I understood what they were saying.
Save us! Save us!
This isn’t a dream.
Anyway, i quit with the books. Curiosity killed the cat.
Lol.

Mind reacting to that. Heart pounding fast.
Deep breaths.

Was gonna tell a third but meh. These two are enough.

Psychoanalyse me?
Tell me your dreams.

Day 31- Tartarus


Hello!!!
So glad to be saying that today would be the last day of the 31 day challenge!! Yaaay! ^_^
And of course, the last day of the year 2012. Yay. -_-

Today, I have a lovely piece custom-made requested from @VokePella and provided by Monsieur @Griffinstreaks!
Totally enjoyed reading it, and hope you do!

TARTARUS

Darkness.
It is all that can be said of this gloomy place, in sight and in mind. It is all you will know dwelling here  yet, our punishment has not been served; we simply wait for the appointed time. To imagine our Creator and Father prepared a place much worse than Tartarus is the only frightening pronouncement that shakes any of us, all 200 of us.

Our sin? One of the most abominable of them all; we lay with women, born of man and they bore us children.

The Nephilims, a creation most forbidden; Father sent 40 days of rain down upon all the Earth to wipe them off the land. It succeeded in cornering a few, in drowning a few but some still survived, some still exist. In that we all take pride, that our new lineage (for our former brothers have disowned and disavowed us) will continue till the end of the age of man.

My anger is eternal, to my Father, to my distanced brothers and most especially, to Man, for his favours are many, obtaining preference over my kind. In subtle and quiet ways we have funnelled messages and plans to our children on earth, shown them and coached them in the best ways to conceal themselves, to mislead man, to assure his destruction will coincide with ours. We are well aware of our fate, that forgiveness cannot be sought at the foot of My Father; my kind is not permitted that, but man is.

Uriel, my former commander never shows himself.  The last I saw of him was 70 centuries ago- if my counting is precise- in his splendour  He had come to inspect our prisons and chains. We all saw what we once were in the appearance of his radiance- resplendent and divinely blinding in all the glory Father had bestowed upon him- compared to what we are now; blackened skin, featherless wings and a gust of hate, anger and destruction swirling around us. Our voices are coarse with bitterness and the vilest of words; voices which once were instruments of sweet praise and adoration to Father.

The Tartaruchi, the worst of Uriel’s kind, the keepers of this dark prison remind us of our impending doom; they look forward to our imminent end, rebuking us for falling so easily for the lust of the flesh but they will never understand how these beauties our Father created can barely be resisted; woman.
Daughters of Eve; so sensual and giving, dotting and devoted. I once tried explaining to their leader Temeluchus, a most feared creature, even viler than I ever was during the time of the wars. His features momentarily softened as I told him of the joys and pleasures promised in the bosom of a woman; it did not last long; he scorned me and rebuked me openly, flaying my side with his great sword.

There are periods when I sense the hate amongst my kind, my own brothers, creatures I once led into both battle and damnation. One dared look me in the eye long enough for me to perceive his thoughts. I tore him to shreds before his brothers, wing from bone flesh from skull, as a lesson to those who easily forget that like me, they chose this fate, not ignorant of the consequences.

Till the Day of Judgement, my children work tirelessly to ensure damnation is not solely apportioned upon me and my brothers alone. Man shall join us in the Rivers of Fire and Torture or whatever Father sees fit to condemn us to. For every one of us Watchers, hundreds of millions shall be made to taste the bitterness of a dark eternity. This much of my word I have given to my brothers and it will never be empty, even within these confines of darkness and ashes.

As I sit here looking into the dark, perceiving and sensing my brothers as they continually grow restless, I sense a coming finality. It has never been so strong before. The time is surely near, the Tartaruchi have doubled their postings around Tartarus and they are now adorned with ceremonial armour.

“Brothers, the promise I made to you on our last day of glory is upon us, our Day of Judgment draws near, imminently closer, and so does that of Man…”

I say these words like never before, filled with hate and anger so great, I leap to the highest point of our prison and raise a familiar battle cry. My brothers shout with me “..did I not promise you all this small consolation?! Have I not given it?!”

Even in defeat, I can sense the satisfaction in their spirits, our wounds shall never be healed until that most insignificant creature dwells in the same place my Father sends us to.
It shall be so, I swear it.
I am pulled from my thoughts as I hear a mighty trumpet, then another and another, by the time the seventh one goes off, my brothers above it all chant my name.
The feeling of pride and glory return, for it has been ages since my name was called; Samyaza! Samyaza! Samyaza!

 

————————————————-

Am I the only one that had little shivers of pleasure at the end? Yes? (   ._.)
A big thank you to Griffinstreaks for this!
I’d drop a book recommendation, if you love tales of the Nephilims and Watches. Well, three books.
The Grigori Trilogy by Storm Constantine. (Stalking Tender Prey, Stealing Sacred Fire and Scenting Hallowed Blood)
You would love it! Promise!

The perfect way to end a perfect run!!
Thank you to all the contributors:  Dionysus, Taryhel, Coolprinceee, The Anonymous guys, Aina (iamosegun), Samson, (Nosmass_Efx) and Griffin sama!!
A special shout-out to Ms Mae Gregory for following every post and her Time Capsule post that gave me the idea for Sakura Blooms.
Another special shout-out to Voke Pella for hooking me up with this swanky post to end the year!

And the most special of shout-outs, to everyone who read our chatterin and nattering, sensible or not!

2013 would be a good year for us all and we’d all live to grumle about me doing a 31day challenge come Decemer, 2013
😀

Oh and this is a big, big hug to everyone who made my 2012 special.

And an even more special Phantom Page shout-out to my Edwin!!!
Thank you for organising the blog and taking over from me when I ran away!
God bless you! I’ve always got your back!

Preying Mantis, don’t think i’ve forgotten you. Evil pest, you! :* 😉

That’s all folks!

TEE. HEE! 😀

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